Butterflies, the Beautiful Kind
by TheBrightestNight
Summary: What if Sherlock did have a friend, someone he could trust, during those crucial years that turned him into the man he is today? Would it make a difference or be the cause of the pain he hides behind his title as a "high functioning sociopath"? Memories, flashbacks and glimpses reveal the evolution of Sherlock Holmes's relationship with a one Elizabeth Hallows.
1. Everything Has Changed

**I realise, that no one _really_ knows what Sherlock's childhood was like—except for ACD. This is just my interpretation… with a little OC twist. (AU, obviously. Whether this will end up as a Sherlock/OC story is really dependent on how these next few chapters pan out, because I don't even know.) Hope you enjoy!**

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Everything Has Changed

He wasn't always like he was these days. He used to be fairly sweet. When I first met him, he was still… well, he wasn't as… damaged, I suppose. And by damaged, I mean, closed up to people to protect himself. The way he hides behind his deductions and his analytical view about everything he encounters, his lack of social skill and his bluntness. As I was saying, though, he wasn't as closed up, but he was just beginning to form his Mind Palace and notice the small details.

I remember meeting him for the first time, quite clearly. It's actually a very fond memory. You see, I had just moved and he actually became my first friend. I don't know how I managed his sometimes cold demeanour or uncaring attitude, and his straightforwardness, but as time went on, and we grew close, they became attributes and idiosyncrasies that I associated with him. Of course, they weren't as pronounced during childhood as they were now, but, like I said, they became him and I became used to them. I accepted that he was unique and had a very beautiful mind.

Anyway, the first time we met was my first day at a new school (in the middle of Year 3). I was new so I didn't have any friends and when I walked into the lunchroom, I noticed him for three reasons: 1) he was reading the newspaper, 2) he didn't have a lunch and 3) he was completely alone.

My heart pounded as I walked into the crowded lunchroom. Around me kids chattered and ate, the noise in the room almost overwhelming. It was like sensory overload and it only made me more nervous. I looked around the room, walking slowly through the maze of tables and children, searching for an empty table or maybe someone who I thought I might be able to relate to and become friends with.

As it turns out, I spotted a boy at the end of the lunchroom, sitting by himself, reading the newspaper. It was folded down to a small size giving me a view of his messy, dark curls atop his head. His eyes—I was too far to tell the colour of—were focused on what he was reading and he had no food in front of him. Without continuing to scour the lunchroom for other possible candidates, I went straight up to that table and sat down a few feet away from him (setting my lunch bag on the table and my backpack on the ground at my feet), glancing out of my peripherals to see if he'd react. He didn't, he seemed far too engrossed in what he was reading.

As I peeked over at him, though, I caught a glimpse of what he was reading. I'd heard about it on the news but I never really paid much attention. I didn't like hearing about death. It was too tragic and morbid for me. Curious now, though, seeing him read it, him being my age and all, I unknowingly scooted closer to him to get a better look at the article. Carl Powers was the boy's name and he'd drowned in a pool, here in—

"Do you mind?" a voice interrupted my train of thoughts and my reading. I blinked and turned my head to come face to face, quite literally, we were centimetres apart (and I was practically pressed up against him), with the curly-haired boy, whose eyes were a very inquisitive grey.

I instantly pulled back, blood rushing up to my face.

"I'm sorry, I just… I just wanted to see what you were reading." I mumbled, pushing myself a little farther away from him, my eyes flickering from him to the table and the walls and the floor. "It's a bit strange," I commented, looking at him, realising that he'd been reading about a tragic, morbid death. "Reading about something so… grim."

The boy shrugged before straightening his newspaper and going back to reading. Chewing my lip, I turned back to my lunch. Not a very good first impression. But, I wasn't about to give up. I could really use a friend and the reason I was over here trying to make friends with this particular boy, instead of the other kids crowding in this lunchroom, was because it looked like he could use a friend more than I ever could.

So I turned back to my lunchbox, trying not to feel awkward. Thankfully he seemed pretty involved in the article he was reading, so he didn't seem to mind that I was sitting a few feet away from him. For now anyway.

I laid out a napkin on the table, like a placemat, before pulling out my ham and cheese sandwich, apple slices, yoghurt and juice. I unwrapped my sandwich from the plastic wrap and took off one of the pieces. My mum had cut it into two perfect triangles. I was on my third bite when I glanced over at the boy again and remembered he didn't have a lunch. Which I found was just about as odd as reading about a death in the daily news.

Swallowing my third bite a little hard, I picked up my other piece, slid over a little closer to him and held it out—just a little in his face, I'll admit. I saw annoyance flash in his now fierce blue eyes before he looked over at me, shooting daggers. I didn't flinch, I merely extended my hand a little more.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding more exasperated than angry, which struck me as odd, considering his eyes were cold, blue crystals.

"I'm offering you half of my sandwich." I told him simply. "I… I noticed you didn't have a lunch. And I thought you might be hungry—"

"I'm not."

I didn't move my arm, but it was starting to ache from holding it up and out for so long.

"Why would you care?" he finally asked when he realised I wasn't going to relent.

"Well… because..." I trailed off too afraid to say it. It was very straightforward and I wasn't sure how he'd take it, seeing as I'd bothered him twice already in the span of ten minutes. But then I figured, if he hadn't gotten up to leave after I invaded his personal space he wouldn't mind me being a little blunt. "Because I'd… like to get to know you better. I'd like to… be friends."

His blue eyes softened a little at this, morphing into a more blue-green. However, as soon as they had softened they harden again.

"No, thank you." he said a little crisply, turning back to his paper. I made a face and slid back to my spot before grabbing another napkin, unfolding it, wrapping the sandwich half in it and sliding it over to him. I then pretended to mind my own business, watching him from the corners of my eyes. It was hard not to turn to him when he stared at me and continued to stare at me for what felt like an eternity but slowly, he turned back to the paper. I continued to watch and not a moment later did he reach out and gently pick up the sandwich, not looking away from his paper.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face, but I kept my eyes firmly on my food. I then continued to go off into my own world, so when the boy cleared his throat, sitting much closer to me, however long later, I jumped and squeaked before covering my mouth with my hand a deep shade of red.

"Oh, I-I just realised," I started quickly, trying to get past that embarrassing moment as fast as possible. "I haven't introduced myself at all. I'm—"

"Wait," he interrupted. "Let me."

My eyes narrowed, but I stayed silent to see just what he was going to do. Then I watched as his eyes wandered to my food and my lunch bag and then back to me, looking me over from my head to my shoes before he met my eyes again.

"You're name is Elizabeth Hallows. You've moved here from Manchester. You're a fan of poetry. And your favourite colour is blue."

I stared at him in shock for a few seconds before turning to look at my lunch, trying to process what he'd said. He'd been exactly right, of course, but that's what was so baffling about this whole situation. I had no idea how he'd managed that one. Especially because we'd never met _and_ I didn't even know his name!

"Wow," I finally whispered, when my brain started functioning again. "That was… that was incredible!" I looked over at the boy who seemed a bit startled at my exclamation, but he blinked a few times and it was gone, replaced by a sort of smug air. "How'd you do that?" I asked eagerly.

The curly-haired boy outwardly smirked before explaining, "You're backpack reads E. Hallows. I recalled earlier today hearing a teacher calling a Lizzy back into class and seeing you quickly run back into the room. Lizzy is sometimes a short-name for Elizabeth. I got Manchester from your dialect. A moment ago you were muttering under your breath, a poem by William Wordsworth. 'I wandered lonely as a cloud,' I believe it's called. And your favourite colour is blue because all the charms on your bracelet are blue. A charm bracelet indicates choice of charm, thus far you've only picked blue ones. So, you must be very fond that colour."

"Oh, well, I do like poetry… I only know that one so well because my mum recites it to me every night. It's… soothing." I mumbled, keeping my eyes on the table. A small moment of tense silence forms before I look back at the boy. "How old are you?" I found myself asking. I was half-joking and half-serious.

The boy slightly narrowed his eyes for a second, his brow furrowing.

"I'm eight. Why is that important?"

"You don't remind me of an eight-year-old." I blurted.

"What do I remind you of?"

"I don't know. Older, I guess. Just… older. No specific age or anything. Are you in Year Three?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"No, it's just… well, it seems like with your intelligence you'd be in a higher grade or something. I mean, you read the newspaper. You know personal things about a complete stranger just by looking at them."

The boy turned away from me, then. He slightly cast his head down at a small angle and averted his gaze. (Which I'd come to find out later was something he did whenever someone picked on him or started making jokes, or even the mere mention of how different he was from other people.) I'd struck a cord somehow and I had a sinking feeling it had to do with the fact that he was sitting all alone at this lunch table.

"Yes, well," he spoke, his voice much quieter than it was before. "I… I've talked about it with my teachers and Mum and Dad. I didn't _want_ to be with older kids. I wanted to be with kids _my_ age. And, though, going through some of these classes is unbearable because of the simplicity of it all, I want to be with kids my own age."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." I mumbled, feeling bad now. And it had been going so well, too!

The bell sounded, signalling the end of lunch and the boy quickly stood, his newspaper in hand, his backpack appearing out of thin air, slung over his shoulder.

"Thank you for the… uh… sandwich." he mumbled before quickly starting off.

"Wait!" I yelled, standing up too, only too fast. My feet got caught in the chair's legs and gravity did the rest, however instead of falling onto the floor, I fell into the boy. He'd caught me. I quickly righted myself and pulled away, blushing like mad. "I-I… I never got _your_ name."

"Holmes." he said. "Sherlock Holmes."

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**Based off and inspired by the song and video of "Everything Has Changed" but not a song-fic. Also inspired by the movie, _Young Sherlock Holmes._ I hope I made them sound kind of like eight-year-olds… I tried my best.**

**I tried to tone down Sherlock's personality because he is, after all, eight. And though, as John will put it many years later, he "started out young", he couldn't have gone through whatever made him so closed up at such an early age.**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


	2. Secrets

Secrets

I didn't completely understand the enormity of the situation until the next year, Year 4. Sure I was only a year older, but I'd gone through a lot during Year 3 with Sherlock. I'd gained some of his trust, he was more open around me than he was with anyone else in the school. And it was in these moments, when he would open up that I began to understand just how much pain he was really in.

Now, generally, I'm a very happy person. I try to be kind to all I meet or at the very least give them a warm smile, because I knew that just a genuine smile could brighten up someone's bad day. School was the first time I ever encountered negativity in my life, because there were so many different people, from different backgrounds, raised differently, with different attitudes and opinions. Before I ever got to school all I was surrounded by were family and close family friends, and of course they were all nice and kind. No one ever put anyone else down. And though, as any family does, they had their issues, I was too young to understand them and/or my parents would keep it from me.

So school was good for learning and experiencing that negativity. I realised that not everything in life was going to be like skipping through a field of flowers. The world was a cruel place to be, but that was only because people suffered and felt they had no other outlet, other than to pick on other people and make them feel lesser and more worthless. My school experience hadn't been too bad, though. No one really picked on me. They all just sort of left me alone to my own devices. I had a group of friend back in Manchester that I hung out with. All the kids in my class knew of me as the nice, sweet girl, but I wasn't popular.

Then came that day, that one day during fall term that it finally clicked for me. The day that it all fell into place. The day that I finally fully understood why Sherlock was sitting all alone during lunch with no food, reading the newspaper, my first day at a whole new school. All of it, really, not just with Sherlock but the whole "the world was a cruel place to be" thing as well.

Lunch had just started, however, I wasn't heading over there just yet because I had a meeting with a teacher. She promised it would be short—and I was hoping it would be, because you know how meetings with teachers are, you never _really_ knew how long you'll be there—so I found myself heading to her classroom as soon as the bell rang for lunch. It's not like I was in any rush to get there because Sherlock always beat me there anyway. I never knew how he did it, but he did. I had chanced guesses that he somehow got out of class early, or maybe, because he never brought a lunch with him since I met him, he didn't take time to go to his locker.

Anyhow, it wasn't a race, I just didn't want to be too late. I wanted time to actually eat lunch and talk with Sherlock. (And also give him half my sandwich. It had become a habit, almost. I hated to see him go without eating during lunch. I don't know how he functioned on half a sandwich and sometimes nothing at all.)

I hesitantly walked into the doorway of Mrs Turpin's classroom and knocked lightly on the doorframe. She looked up from a stack of papers on her desk, holding a red pen, so I assumed grading papers, and smiled when she saw me.

"Come in, Lizzy," she said, waving me forward. You see, she taught math and I wasn't very good at it. At all. Basically, I was one test away from failing. My parents insisted that I go talk to her about my options, they're the ones that set up this meeting in the first place, and I have to oblige. They were my parents after all and I _was_ failing this class.

I pulled a chair from one of the desks and stiffly sat down. I hated meetings with teachers. I always felt uncomfortable because I was afraid they were going to yell at me or get angry. I was trying my best, but math just wasn't my strong suit.

We discussed my current grade and an upcoming test. She said I did well on all the homework she gave out and wondered out loud why I couldn't perform at that level during a test. I explained that Sherlock helped me with homework. He obviously couldn't help me with a test. So we discussed a plan that would hopefully get me a passing grade in class, so I wouldn't have to repeat. Sherlock would stay my tutor, but I needed to put more effort into studying as well as working on my mental math and memorising my times table.

I thanked her and quickly left. It had taken ten more minutes than I had assumed, so I was now fifteen minutes late for lunch. I swiftly started to make my way to my locker, down one hall, turning right, down another hall, taking a left and then I was coming up to a corner that turned left. One wall was lockers, the opposite wall a line of large windows. After that I was one hallway away from my locker and lunch. Right before I turned down that hallways, though, I heard noise and halted in my tracks, my breathing instantly became shallow.

I moved closer to the wall and tip-toed to the corner to peek around it. I never believed that that really worked. I'd seen it in television shows and movies, but they always ducked behind the wall _after_ they were spotted. And though the people they were spying on passed it off as their imagination, I sure as hell wouldn't. If I thought someone was watching me, I'd go check it out. But… that was just me.

And here I was doing exactly the opposite of how I felt. But I wanted to see what was going on. It didn't sound good and the air around this little area of hallway didn't feel nice, either.

There were three boys from our year and then there was Sherlock. The boys were blocking most of my view, their backs to me, but I got glimpses when they shifted from foot to foot or moved, it was definitely Sherlock. I'd recognise those dark curly locks anywhere. They acted as some sort of barricade between him and the hallways he'd been heading down. And they weren't being very nice.

"Hey, _freak_, where do you think you're going?" One of them sneered, shoving Sherlock's shoulder. I felt like I recognised that voice, but I couldn't be too sure.

"I'm going to the lunchroom." Sherlock answered in a monotone, gazing at the boys steadily.

"What, no lunch today?" Another one mocked before all three of them laughed. More voice recognition, but not enough to give me a face or a name.

"Guess he finally learned his lesson, then." The third chimed in, still snickering. Again, there was an overwhelming sense that I knew this boy as well as the other two, but because they weren't facing my way, I wasn't sure. Also, I was eavesdropping on something I probably didn't want to be eavesdropping on.

"I don't know guys, maybe he's hiding it in his backpack." One of them said. All three of them exchanged a look before taking a step toward Sherlock.

I pulled back then and squeezed my eyes shut, putting fisted hands over them and gritting my teeth. I didn't know what to do! I wanted to help but… but what was I _supposed_ to do? I'd never encountered bullying before, especially such violent bullying. It was scary. I was really scared. For myself and for Sherlock. _But I just didn't know what to do!_

"You guys hold him and I'll get his backpack." I heard one of the boys say.

Biting my lip, hard, I lifted my head and looked around the hallways, thinking maybe I could go get a teacher and try to put a stop to this. But all I could see were lockers. One door, unfortunately it was labelled Janitor's Closet. That would do no use unless I wanted to scare those three boys with dirty water.

I heard the scuffling of shoes and grunts as they struggled.

My pulse increased and my breathing became more rapid. I had to do something quick! Maybe if I caught them and yelled at them, stood up to them they'd run off, scatter. Yeah, I could maybe do that…. Maybe. Still biting my lip, my hands clenching and unclenching into fists, I quickly worked up the courage to go over to them and make them stop. A thought froze me in my tracks, though. If I went and stopped what was going on, then they would make fun of him for being saved by a girl. That would just make things worse! And they'd spread rumours and people would laugh at him… oh, it'd be terrible! Still, I couldn't just let him get bullied!

So I made up my mind to go help him and just when I was about to turn the corner I heard a loud-ish bang and some of the lockers rattle, followed by a small grunt of pain and more struggling. On a dime my nerve vanished and I went back to being scared. I covered my ears this time and backed up against the wall, my knees feeling weak. My hands did no good to filter out the noise, though.

"Hey," Sherlock's voice cut through air. "Give that back! That's mine!" I squeezed my eyes shut tight and held my breath when I heard another bang and more rattling of the lockers.

"Watch yourself, Holmes." one of the boys spat before I heard the unzipping of backpack zippers.

I felt so pathetic, hiding behind this wall. Unable to help a friend who desperately needed it, because I had a feeling this had happened before, only no one had ever been there to help him. And here I was, to coward to help him. He finally had someone and yet no help was coming. It was like insult to injury, lemon juice in his eye, salt on his open wounds. This was _horrible_, and I was a horrible friend.

"Let's see," the same boy who'd warned him a moment ago said. "What do we have in here?" There was a pause as, I suspected, he rifled through Sherlock's things. The boy snorted. "_Favourite Poems_," he read out loud. "William Wordsworth." He scoffed as the other two boys laughed. "You like poems, do you, Sherly." He continued to mock.

"That's not my name." Sherlock responded coldly.

"Oh, that's right, your name is Freak." one of the other boys said.

I still couldn't get myself to move, but the guilt was building up with every word that came out of those boys' mouths.

"A freak who likes poetry, apparently." The boy with the backpack scoffed before I heard a thud.

"Careful, that's a library book." Sherlock growled. Yet another bang and lockers rattling.

"_Careful, that's a library book,_" one of them mocked in a baby voice, before all three of them laughed.

"Oh, and a Chemistry textbook!" the one boy exclaimed. "What a geek." He chortled. "But it doesn't look like there's any sort of food in here that I can see." I relaxed slightly. Maybe it was going to end really soon. (How naïve I was back then.) "But, you never know." The sound of more zippers, followed by many things hitting the ground—I'm guessing papers, pens, pencils, the sort of stuff you'd find inside a backpack.

Unwanted tears formed in my still closed eyes then. People were so cruel. I was one of them. Unable to help because I was a coward.

Finally, though it was over.

"All right, guys, let's go. Lunch'll be over soon."

I straightened up and opened my eyes, realising they were coming this direction. I didn't have time to hide, but I didn't want to make it seem like I'd heard what had just happened. My heart pumping in my chest painfully I fumbled for a book from my backpack and opened it up just as they turned a corner. I started walking forward, pretending not to notice them until I crashed into one of them.

"Oh, God!" I exclaimed, closing my book and stepping back a little afraid they'd start picking on me for reading a book. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there. I-I—"

"Hey, Lizzy," one of the guys said genially, giving me a smile. Which shocked me considering they'd just bullied Sherlock back there. But that didn't come as the real shock. What came as the real shock was that I knew all three of these guys, and I had even thought they were nice. That'd explain why I thought their voices had sounded so familiar. I'd talked with them and laughed with them. Helped them with English homework. (That was the point in time I realised that people had more than one dimension and more than one face.)

"H-hey, Jack, Derek, Colin," I stuttered, greeting them each respectively, forcing a smile on my face.

"I thought you'd be in the lunchroom." Colin commented. His voice had been the one I'd heard when they were going through his things, commenting on Sherlock's books.

I also found it odd that they knew I hung out with Sherlock during lunch and they didn't comment or make fun of me for that. In fact, no one made fun of me for that…. I'd figure this out later.

"Well, actually, I had to meet with a teacher. I was just actually going to my locker for my lunch, right now." I explained with a shaky laugh, sidling past them, trying not to seem nervous.

"You want us to walk you there. I feel like we haven't talked in a while." Jack offered, the three of them turning to face me as I made my way to the corner.

"No, that's not necessary. I'll see you guys next period. You should go… hang out with your friends before lunch ends." I insisted.

"You sure? We don't mind." Derek put in, looking back and forth between his buddies. "Right guys?" They agreed and nodded, looking at each other before looking back at me.

"Really," My voice had raised about two octaves and I quickly lowered it back to its normal tone. "Really, guys, it's no problem at all. It's not like these hallways are… dangerous or anything." I joked, forcing a laugh. They laughed with me.

"Well, all right, if you say so." Colin said. "But, if you need anything, you know where to find us." He smiled. They all did. Ugh, they seemed so sweet!

I nodded and forced myself to smile back. "Right. Okay, bye, guys." I turned and was about to dash off and look for Sherlock when one of them stopped me.

"Oh, wait, Lizzy," Derek said. I stopped and slowly turned to face him.

"Yeah," I replied through clenched teeth, but a smile still on my face. This act wasn't going to keep. _Hurry it up already!_ I thought.

"You have… well, you're hair—" Derek finally just reached forward, taking a loose strand of my strawberry blonde hair and tucking it behind my ear. I tried not to jerk away or flinch. He pulled back embarrassed and blushing. They had just picked on Sherlock? It was just so hard to believe. They seemed so… nice.

"Thanks. Bye, again." I mumbled before turning and heading down the hall they'd just come from. They all got their farewells in and headed down the hall I was just in. I made sure they were out of earshot before I sprinted down this hall, which was already empty. Sherlock had cleaned up his stuff and cleared out while I'd been trying to get away from Jack, Derek and Colin.

"Sherlock?" I called, coming up to where the hall split left or I could keep going forward. I followed my instinct and continued forward but not sprinting anymore. "Sherlock?" I called again. I went down two or three more halls and stopped, out of breath and disappointed with myself. I also felt I'd failed. Failed to be a good friend and help him and failed to find him to try and be there for him.

I looked at the clock, I had ten minutes left of lunch. And I still hadn't eaten. Groaning I turned around to head back to my locker, because I still hadn't gotten my lunch bag. Maybe I should just skip lunch today and—

I jumped back and let out a squeak when I almost crashed into someone.

"Sherlock!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms around him, not really thinking. All I knew was that I was relieved to see him. To be able to talk to him. "I'm sorry." I instantly said, still hugging him tightly. He seemed too… stunned or surprised by this close contact to move. "I'm so sorry." I pulled back, tears forming in my eyes again, but I blinked rapidly to dispel them.

"What for?" he asked in a monotone.

I looked at him for a moment. "You know what." I said quietly. His poker face dropped a little and I took a small step toward him. "You can trust me." I promised.

Anger flashed in his mint green eyes. "They've done this for four years. I don't see why it has to be a problem now. It's not like it's a big deal." He started to turn away but I grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock," I said, my voice hard. He tried to pull out of my grasp but I tightened my grip. "_Sherlock_," I said again and waited until he looked at me. Well, more like angled his body toward me and looked down at the floor. "It _matters_ because you have me now. I'm here for you, Sherlock. You don't need to hide it anymore. At least," I said, my voice softer now, "not around me."

He closed his eyes tightly, his hands balling into fists. His jaw was taught. His whole body was tense. I could see just how conflicted he was. Suddenly he jerked his arm out of my hand. I took a step back and gave him a moment. He stood there for a few seconds more, still tense before he moved toward the lockers, slamming his fists up against them—making me jump—before resting them there, his head down, shoulders hunched. I stayed put, though and continued to watch him, and wait.

I don't know how much time passed, could've been five minutes or five seconds, but he moved again. Turning around and leaning against the wall of lockers, head still down, eyes still fixed on the floor. And then he slid down to the floor, bringing his legs up to his chest, resting his arms on his knees and resting his forehead on his arms.

I slowly approached him, a little stiffly to, I'll admit, and sat down next to him. His whole body was trembling. It was hard to see, though and I really wouldn't have been able to tell if it weren't for his hair. It was dark against the light coming from the windows and it was most definitely trembling.

I let out a small sigh and looked over at the opposite wall. Staring blankly at it. On impulse I reached out and took one of his hands, pulling his arm away from his knees, and held it tightly in mine, still staring straight ahead. I felt Sherlock's eyes on me after I'd done this, but I didn't look over at him, and he didn't make a move to take his hand back, so I figured I was okay.

I saw him move his other arm and looked over at him for a quick moment through the corners of my eyes just in time to see him wipe away some tears on his face. He had been absolutely silent this whole time. I didn't even know. My breath caught when I saw that and my eyes went back to the wall opposite, but my hand gave his a gentle squeeze, a reminder that I was here for him and that I always would be.

I felt his eyes on me again, but as before, I kept my gaze fixed on the spot on the opposite wall. There was a reason he didn't want me to see him outright crying, so I was doing my best to respect that while being there for him.

We sat like that until the end of lunch. When the bell rang we both stood up and started to head off in separate directions, no goodbyes or anything, no noise, in fact.

"Elizabeth," Sherlock said suddenly, breaking the silence. This hallway hadn't been overtaken by kids quite yet. I turned to face him.

"Thank you." he said.

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. Sherlock's answering smile, which lit up his soft now-blue eyes, only made me smile more. And with that, we headed off to our next classes.

I knew holding his hand hadn't been much compared to all the things I could've done for him while he'd been getting pushed around and after, but at the very least, it reminded him he wasn't alone anymore.

* * *

**Ugh, this was extremely hard for me to right, just because of the fact that I feel like **_**I'm **_**bullying Sherlock and it's not a fun feeling.**

**Title is the same as the name of a song by OneRepublic. I feel it fits…. (I think that's going to be a thing for this story, now: titles of the chapter named after a song that fits the mood.)**

**As always, I hope you enjoyed.**

**Also, I hope I didn't make it seem too dramatic—Elizabeth's reaction, the boy's picking on Sherlock—but you have to remember they are nine.**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


	3. Little Things

Little Things

After that moment during Year Four, Sherlock came to trust me a lot more. He didn't hold back and he was almost wholly himself. I say almost, because he'd gone through a lot during those first two years of school when I was still in Manchester and that meant two years alone, without a friend, being bullied because he was a genius of sorts. And it was in those two years that Sherlock closed up. Like two years with an actual friend was going to make him suddenly open up again.

That was the thing about the mind, it seemed to only remember the bad things, the negative things. I mean, you enjoyed the happy times and you remembered them, but when someone ever asked… anything it seemed like, you always thought of the negative things first. Or you know that saying where you can help a person thousands of times but the only time they'll remember is the one time you didn't help them? It was kind of like that.

Anyway, like I was saying, Sherlock did open up a little more, knowing that he could trust me—for the most part, as of Year Five. And it showed during our last months of Year Five, during spring.

"Sherlock?" I called, through the nearly empty hallways, the last of the kids trickling out to go home. I was supposed to be meeting Sherlock because he was still tutoring me in math. But he wasn't at my locker or his locker. And he wasn't in either of the Chem room or with any of the Biology teachers. I even checked all the English classrooms.

"Have you seen Sherlock?" I would ask. And I would always get the same response, "No."

After a while I decided he'd gotten caught up in something or had to rush home, so I started leaving myself, when I noticed Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, standing outside on one of the grassy expanses of the school on the east side of the building. I'd met him quite a few times this year because he always came to pick Sherlock up. I don't know what changed that year, but he was there almost every day.

Anyway, Mycroft was standing on the grass, in front of a large oak tree, with that umbrella of his, looking up into the branches of the tree.

Curious what he was doing, but having a good idea, I rushed out of the building and toward where he was standing. I slowed a few feet from him and walked civilly up to stand next to him.

"Hello, Lizzy," he said, not looking at me at all. (I would soon come to realise how genius both of the Holmes brothers were.) "Maybe you can get him down. He's being quite stubborn today." Mycroft continued, finally looking down at me, after finishing his sentence, and giving me a small smile.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"My brother," Mycroft clarified, pointing up to the boughs of the tree with his umbrella. "He doesn't seem to want to come down."  
I looked up into the tree as well, trying to spot him. And even though I didn't, I decided that I should just go up there. So, without a word, I grabbed onto the nearest branch and hauled myself up.

He was resting on a particularly large branch, leaning against the trunk. He had a book in his lap, a newspaper hat on, the tie from his uniform tied around his head, and a periscope in his hands. He was currently looking at something in the distance.

"Hey," I said, sitting down on a branch next to his.

He jumped, startled (which was hard to do, even when he ten), his book sliding from his lap. Putting my feet on a branch below, I leaned against the branch Sherlock was sitting on and reached for the book, just as Sherlock leaned forward and did too.

We both managed to catch it, and when I went to pull it back up, I looked over at him. That was the first time I felt something stir. Because our faces were so close our noses were almost touching. And all I could see we're his bright beautiful wintery blue eyes.

The moment seemed to last a lifetime, but in reality, it probably only lasted about a second, before we both pulled away, Sherlock taking the book back and me, sitting back down on my branch.

"Hi, Elizabeth," Sherlock said quietly, putting the periscope away and opening the book back up to the page it was on. And it could've been just me, but it looked like he was slightly blushing, his cheeks a faint pink. But not for the reason you think.

"What're you doing?" I asked lightly.

"Reading, what does it look like?"

"I like your hat." I commented.

His blush seemed to deepen slightly. But only very slightly. And he clears his throat.

"Is Mycroft looking for me?" Sherlock asked, ignoring my hat comment for now.

I looked down and see him still standing there, but he's got his head down and he's rubbing his temple with the hand that isn't holding his umbrella.

I looked back up at Sherlock and nodded. "Yep."

"Sorry I didn't meet you after school today. I got... distracted." Sherlock replied, ignoring his brother as he had been since the bell rang, signalling the end of school.

"I have my math homework with me, would you like to do it right here?" I asked, pulling my backpack from off my shoulders and into my lap. He gives me a weird look that prompts me to ask, "What?" in a very defensive tone.

He blinks and his face clears. "I know we've been"—he pauses, as if he needs to think of the word—"friends for two years now, but... I mean, I blew you off to come sit in a tree and annoy my brother. And now you want to do your math homework in a tree?"

I tried to hide my smile, but I could still feel it pull at my lips, and looked down. Mycroft was now leaning against the tree, his head down. Hand still at his temple.

"You could annoy your brother a little more." I said quietly, looking back up at Sherlock. I got that half-smile back.

"Okay, sure." He said, taking off his newspaper hat and the tie around his forehead while I took out my homework and a pencil.

So for the next twenty minutes, he helped me (and got to annoy his brother). Which he seemed to enjoy. I'm sure annoying his brother more than anything, but, at least he was enjoying himself, somewhat.

"Thank you," Sherlock mumbled, as I packed my homework back up into my backpack. I looked at him for a moment, pausing in what I was doing, not sure if I heard him correctly. It wasn't like he was some jerk who didn't say it often. It was just, he wasn't one to say that often, just because. He was rude or mean about it. So, I'll admit, I was a bit shocked that he'd said that. And I hadn't even done anything, which made it even weirder.

"For what?" I asked, slowly zipping up my backpack, still—rudely—staring at him.

He held up the now flattened newspaper hat for me to see. "I… I appreciate that you didn't… ask me about it." It was weird seeing him stutter of his words and pause to think or force it out, because whenever I was around him he always seemed so literate. He spoke swiftly and knew exactly what he wanted to say. There were points in time I could barely keep up with him during a conversation he was speaking so quickly. Sometimes I'd even have to ask him to slow down just a tiny bit so that I can keep up with him.

"Oh, well… you didn't seem to want to talk about it, so I just… didn't ask." I stuttered, shrugging. "I should be thanking you, for helping me so much with math."

That was about the time when Sherlock's mother's voice sounded from the ground. I guess since Mycroft couldn't get Sherlock to come down, his parents could. And they did. He looked at me and sighed before shoving his things—his paper hat, periscope, tie and book—into his backpack and slinging it over his shoulder.

"Bye, Elizabeth," he said as he proceeded to make his way down to the ground.

"Bye, Sherlock!" I called, waving and looking down at him as his feet touched the grass. He looked back up and quickly waved back before heading off with his family to home. I sat in the tree a tiny bit longer, just enjoying myself.

It wouldn't be until little later that year did Sherlock tell me about his hat and periscope and wearing his tie around his head. Or rather, indiscreetly told me about all that stuff. It was during lunch. It had gotten silent between us and I guess he wanted conversation.

"Did you know that pirates wore eye patches, not because they lost an eye or anything, but it was to see better in the dark? What they'd do was put the eye patch over one eye so that it was completely dark and their eye could adjust, so that when they went into the ship, where there isn't much lighting they'd just switch the eye patch to their light-acclimated eye and they'd be able to navigate in darkness. I also read a story they used it to loot other ships and towns at night."

"That's really interesting. I didn't know that." I said. "Does that eye patch thing really work? Can you really see in the dark?"

"Well, it doesn't give you night vision or anything. No, nothing like that, but it does make the surrounding area a bit sharper and clearer. I've tried it before. It does work. I was able to navigate my house at one in the morning, without turning on any of the lights. It was quite fun."

"Did you do some looting?" I joked.

"I took my brother's watch," Sherlock answered, "but he took it back from me the next morning." before his facial expression almost hit that of a pout. It was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen. Just because I'd never seen Sherlock actually pout about… anything before.

That was the day that I found out—I knew: Sherlock Holmes liked pirates.

* * *

**Scratch that, I think that's going to be a thing for this story, now: titles of the chapter named after a song that fits the mood **_**or**_** titled after a song title that matches the chapter. Because I don't think this **_**song**_** matches the chapter, but I think the **_**title**_** sure does (Little Things by One Direction, to be more specific—a song that I haven't actually listened to).**

**Also, sorry it's shorter than my last two. This one was harder to fill because there's only so much I can write about when it involves pirates.**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


	4. Titanium

Titanium

Sherlock really began opening up to me after the day he finally—indiscreetly—told me that he was a fan of pirates. That day in the tree seemed to help too, just because he was finally coming to learn that he could trust me. And I mean, _really_ trust me. Last year, there were still things he wouldn't say or tell me. When I was around him, he still seemed a little closed up and guarded, but when he found out that I wasn't like most of the kids that picked on him or tormented him, he opened up much more to me.

Year Six rolled around and our friendship grew. Our trust grew. And my knowledge about what really happened to Sherlock also grew. Which was a good thing and a bad thing. A lot of my experiences with Sherlock tended be bittersweet. Of course there were memories of him and me that were all around sweet, but when it involved learning more about him or gaining knowledge of his life and what'd made him who he was when I first met him—sitting alone during lunch reading the newspaper—the memories were usually bittersweet.

Like what happened during Year Five. Remember when I told you I thought it a bit odd that no one picked on me even though I was constantly hanging out with Sherlock? I mean, it wasn't like I didn't have any other friends. I'd made friends from most of my classes, and like I said everyone knew me but I wasn't popular. I just spent a lot of my time with Sherlock. If I wasn't hanging out with him or he wasn't tutoring me I'd be in a study group with some close friends doing other homework that didn't involve numbers.

Anyway, as I was saying, I didn't quite understand why no one really picked on me because I hung out with the kid they always picked on. When I was with my other group of friends they wouldn't say anything. Sometimes, they'd slip but it was mainly the rumors about Sherlock and me as a couple, which I dismissed immediately on the grounds that we were much too young. Besides, our relationship wasn't like that, we were just very good friends.

It was one day, during Year Six that I'd finally come to figure this conundrum out and not exactly in the way I expected or the way that was light on the emotions either. It was and still is a painful memory, but that morphs into a sweetness that I'll never let go of.

It also taught me something important that I'll never forget, that being bulletproof to words of hurt and anger, being bulletproof to looks of scorn and disgust, didn't mean anything. That word, "titanium" didn't count for anything. Humans are humans, not metal. And neither was Sherlock. Those words may not make him fall to his knees, collapse from the pain, but they still did damage. Every shot, though not fatal, left a mark. A permanent scar with little pain endured, but the little things add up until it becomes too much.

That's what happened to Sherlock.

And though he'd built his walls, called himself a "high-functioning sociopath", his lack of social niceties, calling people idiots or stupid, his walls weren't impervious. They were breakable. Every word, every name he'd ever been called hurt him. I could see that as clear as day on his face. The downward cast of his head, the averted gaze, just for a moment, a flash of that pain that he'd bottle up inside ever since childhood.

He may have had the strength to protect himself and ignore those snide remarks and scathing comments as best as he could, but he was very human. And he felt pain too.

The bell had just rung, signalling the end of the day. I was heading to my locker and then to one of the classrooms because today was one of my tutoring days with Sherlock. I swapped out my books and grabbed the things I needed for tonight's homework and shoved them quickly into my messenger bag (yes, I switched from a backpack to a messenger bag because I just liked them better) before making my way to the classroom, holding my math book in my arm because I ran out of room in my bag.

The door was slightly open when I got to the classroom and I pushed it open freezing in the doorway when I saw Sherlock sitting at one of the desks with Jack, Derek, and Colin surrounding him. They were all facing away from the door, so they couldn't see me. This time, though, I opened my mouth ready to call them out for being mean people, but the words got caught in my throat when Derek started speaking.

"Waiting for your girlfriend, Sherly." he taunted, the other two boys laughing with him.

Sherlock simply sighed heavily. "Not now, Derek. She'll be here soon."

Colin put a hand on the back of Sherlock's seat and got kind of into his face, then.

"I think you forgot the terms of our agreement." he said. My eyebrows furrowed at this. Agreement?

"Of course I haven't." Sherlock told Colin in a very clipped tone, turning his head to meet Colin's gaze with his own, no doubt, cold stare.

Colin smiled, seemingly unfazed, and straightened up, a smug smirk on his face. "Good. Because I would hate to start picking on Lizzy." My mouth went dry at this, my heart dropped and it was then did I realise exactly why no one picked on me for hanging out with Sherlock: He'd made an agreement with them.

I'm surprised in that moment I didn't collapse because as soon as everything clicked it felt like the weight of the sky had just fallen on my shoulders.

"If you like her so much why would you pick on here?" Sherlock asked in what sounded like a monotone, but I thought I detected some annoyance, maybe even… anger?

They all chuckled, looking at each other.

"Don't get me wrong," Jack started. "Lizzy's a sweet, smart girl—"

"Don't forget, pretty cute, too." Derek added.

"Yeah, right. And cute. But there's obviously something wrong if she chooses to hang out with a _freak_ like you." Jack continued. They all started chuckling and smiling. I blinked and realised tears had formed in my eyes that overflowed when I blinked, sliding down my cheeks quickly. That's also when my math book slipped from my numb hand and hit the floor. Not only did my papers fly everywhere, but also made a very loud noise in a very quiet room.

Sherlock's head snapped up at the sound but he didn't turn to look, he knew. The other three boys on the other hand automatically looked. There was a half a millisecond of silence and shock before my knees hit the floor as I went to pick up my things. I just wanted to leave now. There was no way I'd be able to look Sherlock in the face after what I'd just heard. _No way_.

I heard the three come up to me, offering to help me pick up the papers. All three at once, all their voice. Their reaching hands for my things, my papers. I didn't want them to touch anything of mine.

"It's fine!" I snap at them. "It's fine, I can get it myself." I choke out, trying to make sense of what's going on. But suddenly the few papers turns into a sea and I've lost control.

"Lizzy, really, we can help." one of them offered again.

"No, no, I've got it. I've got it. It's fine." I tell them, desperately trying to grab them all at once, and more slipping from my hands than I'm picking up. All the while I'm practically sobbing now, too much emotion and turmoil surging inside of me to handle. They try to help again, but I've had enough. I drop the papers I have before standing up and sprinting out there, leaving my math book, leaving my notes, leaving the three deceitful boys… leaving Sherlock.

I run all the way home, still sobbing as I get through the door. It takes a lot of love and comfort from my mom and dad to finally calm me down, and a lot of chocolate to get me talk about what happened.

I don't want to go to school the next day, but my parents insist. Tell me it'll be okay. To be strong. Still, I'd wished they'd given me at least a one day grace period.

I keep my head down and keep quiet for the day. Just stewing over what I'd heard yesterday. Thinking. Avoiding all of them. Everyone. Especially Derek, Jack and Colin. Especially Sherlock.

Math class though, the teacher comes up to me as everyone's filtering in before class starts. I'm sitting at my desk, arms crossed, resting on the desk, my chin resting on my arms, just staring blankly at the board.

"Sherlock wanted me to give this to you, Lizzy." she says softly, holding out my math book I dropped, all the papers back inside now. I pull back and she gently slides it onto my desk. As she walks away to greet the other kids, I gingerly reach out and open it. Flip through it, amazing, really. All my papers, all my note sand scraps are all back exactly where I had them before I dropped them.

I felt a smile pull at the edges of my lips. That boy. He was truly a genius.

I'd managed to avoid that genius boy all day somehow, but that ended at the end of the day when Mycroft snuck up behind me while I was getting the things I needed for tonight's homework. I closed my locker and was turning around to leave, only to almost crash into Mycroft. I jumped and gasped audibly, jumping back and slamming into the lockers, but I got over that quickly (I'd become used to this eventually, sad to say).

I sighed.

"Sherlock?" I deadpanned.

"Yes, he seems to be evading me at the moment." Mycroft said, twirling the umbrella a bit.

I stared at him for a moment, through slightly narrowed eyes.

"If you know where he is, why don't you just go get him yourself?" I asked a bit exasperated.

"If I knew where he was, I wouldn't be coming to you, now would I, Miss Hallows." Mycroft responded in that odd, almost-clipped-but-not tone of his.

I looked at him, crossing my arms and raising my eyebrows. Mycroft soon gave his own exasperated sigh and looked away. I felt like he was embarrassed but his demeanour didn't show it and neither did his facial expression. Though he definitely showed more emotion than Sherlock did on a daily basis.

"I'll be waiting outside." he finally told me, before leisurely walking off, down the hall. I watched him go disbelievingly and begrudgingly, but went to look for Sherlock anyway. I mean, I didn't have to, but now I wanted to. I wanted to just talk about the white elephant in the room and get it over with. It'd be easier, a clean break, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

My first guess was correct, knowing him so well now: The chemistry lab. The teacher was tapping away on her keyboard, eyes intently fixed on the screen, so she didn't and hadn't noticed the boy in the back at one of the lab tables, his head resting on his notebook, eyes closed, and breath slow and low. He was beautiful when he slept. I would say childlike, but he was still just a child. Okay, so he was eleven, but that's still a kid. Well, anyway, his walls were completely down. He was off guard. His face was free of worry. He didn't have to hold the weight of the world on his shoulders, the weight of knowing how different he was and that he would always be rejected and ridiculed because of that.

I walked up quietly to him, biting my lip. I waited a moment before reaching over the table and gently prodding his shoulder. He jolted up instantly, taking in a deep breath. I took a step back, nervous now. And even though he'd just woken up from what looked like a deep sleep his eyes were bright blue, ever-keen orbs.

"Elizabeth," His tone sounded a bit surprised and his hands came forward to pull his open notebook closer to him. My eyes flickered down to it but he was already closing it by the time I did, giving me no glance into it. They flickered back to him. "You've been avoiding me." he stated, not explaining what was so secret about his notebook. But, then I supposed, if he wanted to tell me, he would (and he would, but that's another story and for a later time… a much later time).

"Yes, I—" I started, looking away, trying to think of what to say next.

"How much did you hear?" Sherlock asked, interrupting me. I looked at him again. He was wearing his poker face.

Tears welled up in my eyes at the mere thought and I sucked in a sharp breath, looking away and blinking rapidly to dispel the tears, or at the very least, keep them at bay. I looked around for a stool and quickly pulled one up next to him when I found one, sitting down and staring the table. Picking at the edge of it. I could feel his eyes on me, waiting for an answer.

"Most of it." I finally managed to whisper, more tears welling up in my eyes. "Did you… really… do that… for me?" I asked slowly, looking over at him, not able to stop the tears this time. Instead of answering, Sherlock's hand started to slowly come up toward my face. I froze as my pulse pounded. What was he doing?

I think my heart stopped when he caressed my face just long enough to stroke his thumb across my cheek and catch a stray tear, before he pulled away again.

"Why are you crying?" But his tone wasn't concerned, it was confused with a hint of disbelief, if my ears weren't tricking me. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, I quickly reached up and wiped my tears off my face, sniffling.

"You didn't have to do that for me, Sherlock." I told him truthfully, smiling through my watery eyes. "It was a sweet gesture, very sweet and very kind, but I _can_ take care of myself."

Sherlock looked down at the table this time, staring at one spot, keeping his eyes fixed on one spot.

"You don't know what it's like." he said quietly, so quiet I almost didn't catch him. "Elizabeth, you're kind and sweet. But you're also naïve. You don't want them to taunt you or push you around.

"Sherlock—" I tried.

"It doesn't matter to me." He snapped, his voice getting a tiny bit louder before quieting again. The teacher didn't seem to notice, still too focused on what she was working on. "They can push me around, they can taunt me, mock me. What they say doesn't mean _anything_. They're all idiots. I am impervious to their words and their taunts."

We sat there in silence as I processed this. As my mind slowly worked it, because I got that he wanted to protect me, to guard me and shelter me from the harsh world of reality, but I didn't understand why he cared so much. Don't get me wrong, it's probably one of the sweetest things a guy has ever done for me, however, I needed to go through some of these experiences just for the experience. To grow and build and make myself, my personality, to add to my knowledge.

I gently and cautiously rested a hand lightly on his upper forearm, looking at him with soft, sympathetic eyes and a small smile. Sherlock looked down at my hand before looking up at me questioningly, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

It had clicked, part of clicked right before I'd rested my hand on his arm, in that little pocket of eternity, just sitting there in the Chem lab. He was only protecting me from the pain that he felt daily, constantly. A never ending pain and loneliness that threatened to swallow him whole. He was lying to himself every time he said that it didn't matter, that it didn't bother him. Because—

"You don't have to be strong if you're impervious." I told him quietly.

* * *

**It's been quite a while, friends, but I'm somewhat back. I was having a hard time deciding what to do for this chapter and then this idea struck me (thankfully, I have ideas for the next couple of chapters)! Yay for ideas! Also, college has taken away a lot of my writing time, so updates will be sporadic. Stay tuned, though, because I will keep updating this.**

**Credit to Bones (the television show) for that fantastic line that concluded this chapter, as well as the concept of "not being strong if you're impervious" itself, that is the theme of this chapter.**

**Titanium, like the song. And yes, the actual song does relate… if you hadn't guessed.**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


	5. Moments

Moments

The rest of Year Six was… well, it was rough, to say the least. I hated knowing that Sherlock was taking twice the bullying just to protect me, and we discussed this at length almost every single day after I'd found out, but at the same time I couldn't help but wonder if he was right. I mean, don't get me wrong, I wanted him to respect my decision to not let him take on all that by himself, but I also had to respect his decision to do so in the first place. And, I had to take into consideration that he was doing this to keep me from getting hurt.

Because the way he said that, the way he said, "You don't know what it's like." was utterly heart wrenching. Now, older, I realise why it was so heart wrenching, because looking back, I can hear the pain in his voice, but it wasn't just that. No, it was the sadness in his eyes. The longing, the… the… the _loneliness_. The loneliness I saw there that day was terrifying in more ways than one.

How could someone so young and so brilliant be hurting _so much_ inside? How could someone so young and so brilliant even handle it?

So, maybe he was right in some respects. I was very naïve back then, and innocent, and I probably wouldn't have been able to handle the teasing and taunting and being pushed around.

You know why he doesn't bring lunch to school? Why he stopped eating lunch all together? (He accidentally told me this when we were discussing why he should respect my decision and why I should respect his.) It was because after they found out how smart he was, they started stealing his lunch and either eating themselves, throw it on the ground and smash it with their shoes, or dump it on him.

I could see his point more after that, but I was still conflicted. I just didn't know what to do anymore. This was too much to think about for a twelve-year-old girl.

Year Six didn't hold the best memories for me. And I was nervous about Year Seven, but it actually turned out better than I expected. One memory sticks out, especially. Remember when I told you that when I'd woken Sherlock up in the Chemistry classroom he'd pulled his lab notebook away from me before quickly closing it. He'd been hiding something from me, and Year Seven was the year I found out just what he'd been hiding.

The day he showed me, the whole school had been required to go to an assembly. What we were assembling for was anybody's guess and I would never get to find out because, 1) I never bothered to ask later and 2) I didn't exactly go….

I was on my way other there when the bell had rung, slowly following the heard of people—trying not to bump into other people, trying not to feel claustrophobic surrounded by so many people cramming their way through only four doors—when suddenly someone grabbed my hand. I jumped, gasped and looked down, quickly following the arm to see Sherlock.

"Come on," he said, pulling me away from the crowd and the assembly. "I want to show you something."

"Wait… but—" I looked back at the kids all filtering through as Sherlock pulled me away from them. "The assembly." I looked back at Sherlock, who stopped to face me, but kept his hand in mine.

"What about it? It's just going to be about homework and bullying and the spread of germs. It's not important. Besides, it's not like _everyone_ goes to those, anyway." He pulled me again, but I resisted.

"How can you be so sure?" I asked, looking back at all the kids filing in, again before meeting Sherlock's eyes.

"That's what it was about last year." Sherlock deadpanned. "And the year before that. And the year before—listen, you should know this. You went to them, didn't you?"

I suddenly felt insulted and pulled my hand out of his, blood rushing up to my cheeks.

"Well… we're in secondary school now, I'm sure it's going to be a little different. And _important_." I told him haughtily.

Sherlock sighed heavily and rolled his eyes before startling me and taking a step closer to me, taking my hand into his again, startling me for the third time in less than five minutes. "Do you _really_ want to go?"

I looked over my shoulder as the last of the crowd started to make their way through before looking around the hall at all the other students who were walking _away_ from the assembly. Then I met Sherlock's eyes again, those gorgeous ever-changing eyes, that had been trained on me this whole time.

"No." I admitted. "Not really." I only went because I was afraid of getting in trouble. I mean, mandatory meant mandatory, didn't it? I didn't have time to ponder this too much because Sherlock gripped my hand a little tighter and smiled before pulling me down the hall. I wasn't sure where we were going for a few hallways, but suddenly I recognized the path he was taking us, it was the way I always walked to the Chem room if I was ever looking for him (which was a lot; he was always doing some sort of experiment and would forget about lunch or helping me in math).

"Are we allowed to be doing this?" I asked in a quiet voice as Sherlock opened the door (which was surprisingly unlocked).

"No, probably not." Sherlock said casually letting go of my hand and walking into the room. "Shut the door, will you? And turn off the lights."

I gaped at him for a moment, trying to get words to come out of my mouth but nothing came and after a short moment I merely sighed and shut the door, flicking the switch down—which made the room considerably darker, for the blinds were also closed—before I followed him to the back of the room where the lab tables were located.

"Won't the teacher notice if some of the chemicals and things go missing?" I asked, still in a hushed voice.

"I've talked to her about this. She knows I'm going to be using some of the chemicals." He paused as he pulled out a white-ish mixture in beaker and a box of matches (which had me a little worried). "Just not when I was going to use them." He finished, grabbing two pairs of safety glasses and handing one to me. "Here put these on."

"Sherlock…" I looked at him reluctantly.

"It's going to be fine. We won't get in trouble and you won't be hurt. I promise." He said in a persuasive voice. My eyes flickered to the matches. "I _promise_." he said again, putting a little more force behind his words.

I bit my lip, thinking about this. I was curious. And I knew Sherlock knew what he was doing. I'd only feel safe with him in the Chem lab. But, still… fire? There was going to be fire?

As if he could read my mind, Sherlock spoke, "It'll only be a little fire. And only for a few minutes or so. You won't get hurt." He reassured.

I slowly took the glasses from his hand and put them on. All the while Sherlock put his on, also getting a paper towel wet and wiping down the counter before drying it off. He then washed his hands and lower forearms before also drying them off. I did the same.

We turned back to the counter where Sherlock took the beaker with the odd, white-ish mixture and scooped up what was inside, pushing it into his hand and squeezing a clear liquid out, while forming the white mixtures into a ball a little bigger than a table tennis ball.

He then put the beaker aside and set the little white ball onto the table, before striking a match and lighting up the white ball. The flames shot up an inch or two from the ball, in a beautiful mix of orange and bluesih-green.

"Wow," I whispered, in awe. I may not be good a chemistry, but it was amazing what you could do with the knowledge of it. Sherlock started rinsing off his hands and arms again.

"You can pick it up, if you want." he said, suddenly, grabbing a paper towel to dry off. My eyes shot over to him in astonishment.

"What?"

"Yeah, you can pick it up. It's totally harmless."

"I don't know…"

"Here," Sherlock threw the paper towel away and gently scooped the flaming ball into his hands—earning a gasp and a small squeak of fright for him—tossing it back and forth between his hands before setting it down on the table again and showing me his hands. "See." He grinned.

I instantly took his hands into mine, examining the palms. Not a scorch. Not a single mark. Nothing.

"How does… how does that even work?" I asked a little breathlessly, still not believing my eyes quite yet.

"The flame isn't hot enough to burn your hands. And as long as you've washed your hands of any substance that's flammable, you should be able to pick the ball without any injury. It's call the California Snowball, because California is usually hot and doesn't get snow. Well, part of it anyway." Sherlock explained.

I looked back at the still flaming snowball. The colours just amazing. I don't think I'd even seen a flame like that before.

"You should try and pick it up." He said, pushing it toward me.

I shook my head, biting my lip and staring at the flames still emitting from the ball. "I don't know…" Even though he'd just demonstrated that I'd be fine, I was still worried something would happen. I mean, you grow up learning that fire would burn you, always. Going against the grain of that was hard and terrifying.

Sherlock gently grasped my wrist and my head snapped up to him.

"Sherlock!" I gasped.

"Do you trust me?" he asked in a soft voice, meeting my eyes steadily.

I swallowed hard. "Of course," I whispered. Not looking away from me, he gently turned my hand over, keeping his palm underneath mine.

"I'm just going to drop it into your hand and you can quickly drop it into mine, okay?" He asked gently.

I nodded, but was unable to verbally answer because I was freaking out. My heart was pounding and my stomach was quivering, but Sherlock continued to keep his hand underneath mine, keeping a promise that I wouldn't get hurt. And that in itself was comforting. And when was I ever going to get another chance to hold a flaming "snowball"? I mean, I was nervous. I was _so_ nervous, but I was also excited. I loved cool science things, even if I didn't quite understand the chemistry behind them. They were still interesting and fun to watch and learn about, even if I didn't quite remember it later.

"I'm going to put into your hand now." Sherlock said, breaking me out of my reverie. I nodded, my heart going double time. It was rather quick, he picked it up and rolled it into my palm. I jumped a little, but Sherlock kept his hand underneath mine and when I realised that it wasn't burning me I became fascinated with the concept. It was definitely warm, but it wasn't burning me at all. And when it became hot, I simply turned my palm and let it roll into Sherlock's hand, who then rolled it back onto the table.

I was grinning by now.

"That was so cool!" I exclaimed. "This is _so_ much better than an assembly." I turned toward Sherlock. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "There's no need to thank me. I just thought it would be a fun little thing to show you." He picked up a beaker then and put it over the still flaming "snowball", swiftly extinguishing it. "We should go before the assembly ends, however." He said, taking off his safety glasses. "Could you get the lights?"

I took my glasses off, leaving them on the table top, and went to turn on the lights while Sherlock cleaned up, which was quite quick because I turned around and he was already heading toward me, his backpack slung over his shoulder, mine in one of his hands. I took it from him, mumbling a thank you as he opened the door and peeked out.

"Looks like we've got a few minutes." Sherlock said, opening the door wider and stepping out, closing the door again after I'd stepped out as well. "I'll see you at lunch?"

"Oh, yep. See you later." I said, a little startled by his sudden, on-the-go kind of air. He gave me a quick, small smile before heading off down the hall. I shook my head and let out a small chuckle. I really shouldn't have expected anything else, though. Sherlock was different when it came to intimate things. He always was and always had been. And when I say intimate, I don't mean romantically, or anything. I mean intimate when forming personal relationships with people. We'd had an intimate moment back there, but I wasn't sure how much Sherlock took away from that.

I would come to find out just how much he would take away from that, though, at a much later date. In other words, another story for another time.

* * *

**That took me way longer than I anticipated. But I hit a writer's block and then college life got in the way. I do have the other ideas all set out and ready to go—for the most part—however, college. So, I don't know when those'll be coming. As always, I hope you enjoyed (and I hope you stick around to see how this unfolds).**

**Title fits, song doesn't. (Song by One Direction.)**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


	6. When I Close My Eyes

When I Close My Eyes

The rest of Year 7 was a lot easier after that experiment Sherlock had shown me. It was moments like those that I really enjoyed about our relationship because I felt that it really strengthened our bond, which sounds _extremely cheesy_, I know, but it was true. Moments like those in… anyone's life would do that. That year also went by relatively quickly and without any other big incidents. For the most part, it was all quiet the rest of the year.

And as the years of knowing each other grew, so did our friendship and how personal we got, how much we started opening up to each other, how much more we told each other. I mean, don't get me wrong, Sherlock was still an enigma to me, even with all the things he'd told me throughout the years. But each year, he'd open up a little more, inch by inch and I got a better glimpse inside his head. I know I've probably said this a few times, but it was true. He only opened up so much every year. And sometimes I'd even wonder and doubt that he'd ever open up to me fully, trust me fully (as I already did him). But then he'd smile at me, his eyes crinkling in the corners, his whole face lighting up, or he'd start to chuckle, at first, then it turned into somewhat of a giggle as he tried to keep it under control, before he finally gave up and broke into laughter.

It was in those moments I was reminded that he was learning to trust me. He was learning that I was, and always would be, there for him. I wasn't going to leave. And I most certainly wasn't using him for anything, I had no ulterior motives. He was my friend and I, his.

When you spend so much time with one person, you pick up on their small idiosyncrasies and quirks that make them who they are. That was me with Sherlock. Before long I was able to pick him out a crowd of people almost instantly. I could tell you if it was him walking from a distance because I'd become so accustomed to the way he walked and held himself. I'd come to love how he'd talk, too. I was able to keep up better when he got _really_ excited and starting speaking _really_ quickly. And though I didn't understand half of what he said because it was science jargon, I still enjoyed listening to him speak. And our conversations during lunch or the few minutes as we waited for him to be picked up after our tutoring session.

I still didn't know how much that moment in the Chem lab had meant to him, but I could tell that it had impacted him in some way. Like that one special day, during the year. He usually didn't do anything big for it, sometimes just a sentence, but this year—this year was different. _Way_ different.

I'd just entered the lunch room and instantly, as they had ever since I became friends with Sherlock, my eyes flew toward our table. And I called it that because we always sat there, and no one else would. The kids would change and move, but that table always seemed free.

Today was different, however, because instead of a boy with curls of dark hair atop his head, the table was completely empty. I paused for a moment, thinking back to earlier this morning. He was here. He'd definitely been here. Maybe he was running late or something. Either way, I made my way over to the table and was just about to sit down when someone slipped their hand into mine.

I jumped and quickly looked. I had just enough time to ask, "Sherlock?" in a startled voice before he was pulling me away, giving me even less time to grab my lunchbox. And then he was quickly pulling me toward the exit, with no explanation, his grip on my hand tight.

"Sherlock, wait," I said as soon as the lunchroom doors closed. I tried to stop him too, but he was strong. Much stronger than I assumed. He wasn't lanky, he was lean and I had a feeling underneath that uniform were well toned muscles.

He kept pulling me, his long legs making it hard to keep up with him. Finally we came to a stop behind a corner. He peeked around it, his hand still firmly in mine, and I caught my breath. When he pulled back I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing and where we were going but he held a finger up to his lips, signalling for me to stay silent.

I gave him a reproachful look, but kept quiet. A few moments later I heard the sound of a door being closed and locked before footsteps started coming in our direction. Suddenly, we were in motion again, and on a crash-course for the teacher.

It was quick and very unsuspecting. Sherlock quickly pulled back and apologised to the teacher before pulling me away, but slower. The urgent air he'd had around him a moment ago vanished. And when the teacher vanished, he went up to the door I assumed that teacher had just come out of. Sherlock then pulled out a lanyard with four or five keys.

My mouth dropped.

"Sherlock, those aren't—" I started, looking over my shoulder to the hall that the teacher he'd crashed into had gone.

"I'll return them before she even notices, don't worry." he said, flippantly.

"Sherlock!" I exclaimed in a surprised whisper.

He paused in opening the door and looked at me.

"Are you angry?" he asked, in a low voice.

I took a breath and paused, thinking about my response.

"Yes," I finally said, pausing to let him think about that for a second. "I'm angry that you didn't teach me how to do that."

Sherlock chuckled and the corner of his mouth lifted up into the half smile I'd come to love.

"Come on," he said, turning back to the door and opening it up.

"But that doesn't mean that it's right and that you should ever pickpocket a teacher." I added as I followed him into the dark room. He simply smiled and shut the door, dousing us in darkness, but this only lasted for a few seconds because Sherlock then flicked a switch the room was bathed in light.

"What are we doing in here?" I asked, looking around the music room. It had rows of chairs, forming a loose semi-circle facing the front of the room. Stands for music sheets stood in front of them, some of them lower or higher than others. To my left was a grand piano. Behind all the chairs were drums and keyboards and xylophones. Behind those instruments were cupboards and closets. And breaking them up were two separate doors that led to back rooms, which I've no doubt held more instruments.

"It's a surprise." Sherlock said, coming up to me and taking my hand again and leading me over to one of the chairs. "Sit down and close your eyes. Keep them closed until I say, okay?"

I bit my lip and looked at him warily. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

"You trust me, don't you?" he asked softly.

"You know I do." I told him quietly, before taking a deep breath and sitting down. He let go of my hand and I slowly closed my eyes. I heard him move around the room and the opening of one of the cupboards. I tried to keep my eyes shut, which was proving a hardship. I was curious as to what Sherlock wanted to show me.

I held my breath when I heard him come up to me and the scraping of a chair's legs on the tile floor. Then silence for a few moments.

"Okay," Sherlock said so quiet, I almost didn't hear him. For a moment I even thought I'd imagined it. But I slowly opened my eyes. Sherlock was sitting in front of me now, with a violin in hand. I opened my mouth to say... something (I can't quite recall what I'd planned to say) but the words died in my throat when he lifted the violin onto his shoulder and under his chin and drug the bow across the strings.

My breath caught when he started to play _Für_Elise. I'd told him however long ago that _Für_ Elise had been my favourite compositions by Beethoven. And it sounded splendid on the violin. I wanted to close my eyes and just let the sweet music envelope me, but resisted that urge because watching Sherlock play was... magical.

He seemed so... himself. His whole body swayed with the music and his eyes were closed in concentration. His brow was slightly, but only slightly, furrowed. It just seemed like his walls came down and he was revealing his true self, without the worry of hurt or pain. He could be himself and not have anyone ridicule him for it. He opened up, blossomed like a flower. It was beautiful.

The song came to an end and Sherlock drew the bow over the sting, letting that last, slightly melancholy, note hang in the air. He stayed in position for a moment after before opening his eyes and setting the violin in his lap. I could see his walls go up and the air around him change, but I was still lost in the music.

Suddenly he reached over and gently ran his index finger underneath my eye, catching a tear. I gasped and quickly reached up to scrub them away, sniffling.

"That was... that was beautiful, Sherlock." I said through my tears, not quite able to stop myself. "I didn't... I didn't know you played." I looked at him again, smiling through my watery eyes, telling him I was okay.

He gave me a small smile back. "Well, I didn't until about a week ago. My mum insisted I take up an instrument." He looked down at the violin, as if embarrassed, and started gently plucking the strings. "I found it's soothing. Calming. The sound is... comforting and it helps my mind quiet and focus on something." He stopped plucking the strings and looked back up at me.

"That was beautiful, Sherlock." I told him again, reaching over and taking his hand into mine. I couldn't believe, though, he'd learned such a complicated song in under a week. Then I suppose, he would, wouldn't he.

He smiled a smile that lit up his whole face—a smile I'd seen only once or twice before grace his features—before leaning forward and kissing me on the cheek. He then pulled back, but to be able to murmur in my ear:

"Happy Birthday, Elizabeth."

* * *

**So I'd written most of this already and added a little to flesh it out and make it a tiny bit longer (sorry it's shorter than most of my chapters), and here it is for you all. As always, hope you enjoyed. We'll see how fast I can get this next chapter here (seeing as I've written some of it already)….**

**Song from a show called "Ruby and the Rockits", by Alexa Vega. I think it kind of fits and kind of doesn't. Like the general idea of the song fits the chapter, but the actual lyrics and meanings don't.**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


	7. Believe

Believe

We started celebrating holidays after that, but in a rather unorthodox way. Well, at least deviating from social norms. No big parties or celebrations, but quiet, intimate get-togethers that were nicer for both of us, seeing as we both weren't very social people. They weren't anything terribly "special", either. I mean, sometimes it'd be a small, simple gift exchange and sometimes Sherlock and I would hang out in the Chem room after school and he'd show me another cool experiment. Things like that. It was nice.

I was surprised I didn't hear more rumours about Sherlock and I, to be honest, seeing as we nearly always hung out together. It could've been that Sherlock was protecting me, again (which, I might add, we still had small arguments over), but rumours were hard to keep from anyone.

Anyway, what I mean is that I was surprised there weren't any rumours going around. Don't get me wrong, I was appreciative of this fact, but it still was surprising to me. I suppose I really shouldn't have been thinking about it as hard as I was back then, because you know that they say: Be careful what you wish for. That pretty much summed up Year 9.

I looked out the window as I headed to gather my things from my locker and sighed heavily at what I saw. It wasn't that I wasn't used to rain, but today seemed like a particularly nasty day. It was pouring. And when I say pouring, I mean you couldn't see ten feet away because it was just a sheet of rain.

I trudged the rest of the way to my locker and slowly grabbed my things. I pulled out my umbrella as I exited the building and then swiftly out into the rain. And though it was chilly and wet everywhere, I loved hearing the sound of the rain hitting my umbrella. Something about the sound was just... soothing in a way.

I was walking down the semi-long driveway that lead to the school when suddenly I heard my name being called. I jumped before looking over my shoulder to see Sherlock. Except he was in a car, the window down. I blinked processing this for a moment before going up to the car and leaning over slightly to be able to hear him over the rain and also blocking the inside of the car from the rain.

"Sherlock?" I asked a little breathless. I didn't want to stand around for too long because I was already getting cold.

"Would you like a ride home?" Sherlock asked.

"What?" I exclaimed, shocked by this gesture for some reason. "Oh, no, I'm fine. I live only a few streets down."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock said. "But it's pouring and cold. Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

"I have an umbrella. The cold won't last for very long. I'll be fine. Besides, I couldn't burden you with such a short drive when I could easily walk." The car behind Sherlock's honked its horn and glanced over to see a line of cars waiting for Sherlock's to move. I looked back at Sherlock who was either oblivious or didn't care, as usual.

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm fine." I said quickly before stepping away from the window. "Bye, Sherlock. I'll see you tomorrow." I started heading away again but Sherlock called my name again.

"The offer stands. If you need or want a ride at any time, just ask." he told me.

I smiled and nodded. "Okay. Thank you." Sherlock gave a small wave before rolling up the window. The car then quickly drive past me, as did the other cars that had been held up because of it. I watched it go before starting my walk back home again.

The next day, I found Serena waiting by my locker that morning. I guess I should've mentioned, Serena had been a new student at the beginning of this year. She was from America, a state called Oregon, to be exact. I had befriended her the first day she got here because I noticed her looking very lost and slightly confused, so I went to see if she needed any help. It turned out that she was, indeed, lost but was too stubborn to use the map she was given. So I directed her to her class and she somehow found me during lunch, where she met Sherlock.

I wouldn't call them friends, but they got along nicely. Sometimes they'd have small altercations when Sherlock did one of his deductions or started speaking too quickly, but those were few and far between. They started to get used to each other. She did hang out with other kids at the school more than she hung out with me and Sherlock, and I think that put a strain on their relationship because Sherlock was afraid she would be "brainwashed" into thinking he was a freak, however she never brought it up or picked on him like the others, so it worked out. She was also very outgoing, extroverted and blunt, and I think Sherlock liked that because she told it how it was, which Sherlock tended to do quite a lot.

I still wouldn't call them friends… well, at least, not in the way Sherlock and I were friends, but she was a pretty nice person all in all.

So, anyway, as I was saying she was standing in front of my locker smiling like a madwoman, which had me instantly concerned.

I unconsciously slowed my walk as I got to her, looking at her reproachfully. She rolled her eyes and stepped out of the way as I slowly reached for the dial on my locker.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic, you act like I'm going to murder you." She sighed, leaning against the lockers. I didn't relax, but I did look away so I could see what I was doing.

"Okay, so what then?" I asked as I grabbed the things for my first class.

She giggled. "You should know." She hit my arm playfully.

I looked at her with the expression that said I had _no idea_ what she was talking about.

She sighed heavily and rolled her eyes again before waving me over to her. I narrowed my eyes before hesitantly leaning in. She leaned in too, whispering a rumour that'd been flying around since yesterday and into today, which I thought was odd. It just seemed to have travelled scarily fast. But, I only find it odd now. Then, I was too caught up in shock and embarrassment.

"What?" I exclaimed, pulling back sharply, blood rushing up to my cheeks.

"So? Did you? How was it? Is he a good kisser?" Serena asked, her hazel eyes bright and shining with excitement.

"Shh!" I chastised her as some girls passed and my face turned redder.

"Well?"

"No!" I exclaimed in a whisper. "No, we didn't kiss. I can't believe someone started that rumour. It's not true. Not true _at all_."

Serena laughed. "But you've certainly thought about kissing him, haven't you?" She smiled mischievously. I was about to deny it—though it was a lie—when the boy in question come up to us. We had a class together this morning and we always walked to it together.

"Hey, handsome." Serena greeted Sherlock with a wink. This only made my face flush again. I looked down at the floor, trying to hide it as best as I could. I felt too mortified to speak. I could hear Serena snicker at this.

"Hello… Serena," Sherlock greeted. I could hear the confusion in his voice, but he hid it well. If I hadn't known him so well, I wouldn't have heard it at all.

"Well, I'm off to class. See you two lovebirds later." She sang, skipping off down the hall. My head snapped up when she said "lovebirds" and I watched her go, my mouth wide open.

"I don't understand." Sherlock said, also watching her go, his eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Don't worry about it." I muttered, closing my locker. "We should probably head to class, too."

"Elizabeth, are you all right?" he asked as I started in the direction of our class.

"I'm fine." I deadpanned, continuing to walk. It would only be much, _much_ later that I told him what we were talking about that day, to Sherlock's annoyance. But I was only fourteen. I wasn't ready to really address those feelings I'd started forming toward Sherlock. It was all very confusing and scary, so I focused on school and tried not to let them get in the way of our friendship.

So, the problem with that rumour, was that it was hard to falsify, because of the time we spent together. Then, came that one day… that one extremely rain day….

The rain was pouring in sheets that day. The hallways weren't filled with kids talking and chattering after school had gotten out and instead were filled with the sound of the rain hitting the window. I wasn't too disturbed by this, because I'd become accustomed to walking home in the rain. Well, that is until I got to my locker and realised that I'd forgotten my umbrella at home. This morning there hadn't been a single drop.

Sherlock found me tearing my locker apart trying to find it.

"Can't find your umbrella?" he asked as he came up to me.

I sighed and froze in my searching, finally getting that no matter how many times I looked, it was wasn't going to be there.

"No," I told him, closing my locker and shouldering my messenger bag.

"Still don't want a ride?" He questioned as we headed toward the exit.

"I'm sure it's not that bad outside. It just sounds bad because of the windows." I said, making excuses. "I don't want to burden you with such a short drive."

Boy was I wrong. There was a small square that was covered as soon as you exited the building, leading to stairs down to the pavement and into the rain. Sherlock and I stood at the very edge, just within the dry zone, staring out at the rain pouring down.

"I insist, Elizabeth." Sherlock said, turning to face me, as his usual black car pulled up to the curb and stopped. I stared at it through the rain. I really didn't want to get soaked. My parents worked, so they couldn't pick me up and I didn't take the bus because I didn't exactly like public transportation.

"It's really no trouble at all." Sherlock added after a few moments of silence, as I continued to contemplate.

This rain wasn't going to let up any time soon.

"Okay," I finally said. I didn't want to get soaked and I didn't want to get sick, either. The sprint to the car got me pretty wet, but not nearly as much as it would've had I walked home without my umbrella. Sherlock, being the gentleman he was, opened the door for me and I quickly slid in. He followed suit.

"Hello, Nicholas." Sherlock greeted as he shut the door.

"Hello, Sherlock." He greeted back, looking at him through the rear view mirror, before shifting his eyes to me. "And who is this pretty lady with you, today?"

"This is my friend, Elizabeth Hallows." Sherlock introduced.

"Ah, yes, Elizabeth. Sherlock's told me a lot about you, Miss." Nicholas said with a smile and a gleam in his eyes.

My mouth dropped slightly and I looked over at Sherlock who was looking down at the floor, and if my eyes weren't playing tricks on me, a faint blush stained his cheeks. But at that particular moment it wasn't exactly the fact that he talked about me to other people (a lot apparently), it was that this man wasn't Sherlock's father. He was an older man, with greying hair.

"You have a personal driver?" I asked in a whisper.

Sherlock met my gaze. "Yes," I could see his walls come up at this and I found I was a little hurt that he thought I'd judge him at this point in our relationship.

"I don't want to burden you with such a short drive. I couldn't. I can walk." I started reaching for the door handle but Sherlock grabbed my wrist.

"Elizabeth," His voice was annoyed. "You're going to get sick walking out in such heavy rain."

"It's my job, Miss. I don't mind at all. A friend of Sherlock's is a friend of mine." Nicholas added with a sweet smile.

I took my hand off the door handle and Sherlock let go of my wrist.

"Where to, Miss Hallows?" Nicholas asked as I buckled my seatbelt.

I told him my address and added, "Please, call me Lizzy." (Oh, and by the way, I tried to convince Sherlock to call me Lizzy, but he insisted on calling me Elizabeth. He never explained why, he just did. It's not that I don't like the name Elizabeth, Lizzy was just shorter and easier to say. I didn't, and still don't, mind Sherlock calling me by Elizabeth… in fact, if I recall correctly, he's probably the only one who calls me Elizabeth. Even my parents don't call me Elizabeth. They're the ones who gave me my nickname Lizzy in first place.)

I didn't start always taking rides from Sherlock after that, but if it was an extremely cold day or I wasn't feeling well, the car was always there for me. And I took rides often enough that I came to know Nicholas a little better. Sherlock even had the car sent for me, though he wasn't at school that day because he'd gotten sick. I'm sure he'd put up a fight, but the parents must've won to keep him home. I swear, that boy didn't know his limits sometimes.

It was sweet. It didn't exactly help the rumours and Serena ate it up, but at that point I didn't care. I didn't care about the rumours. Sticks and stones, right? From the ones I heard, I thought they were all pretty amusing, actually. That didn't mean they weren't annoying from time to time, but if you started ignoring them, neither affirming nor denying anything about anything, they start to lose interest and soon, stop talking.

So, what happened wasn't exactly monumental, I know. But… it was the little things. It was always the little things with Sherlock. (Like him and pirates.) It didn't seem like much, and it didn't seem to open that door to his mind very much wider, to me anyway, but there was still movement, even if it was miniscule. These things took time, especially when you weren't used being in a healthy relationship.

Sometimes I'd see just how insecure he was about this, even after all this time. It wasn't like, he was totally and completely insecure because it had been seven years since we'd met, but there'd be a flash in his eyes, or when he was having a bad day, it'd show a little more. It only seemed natural that he'd still feel this way, because he wasn't sure if at any moment I was going to drop everything and turn on him. On some level, this hurt. To know that after all this time, he still had some insecurity, but I couldn't fault him for that. I really couldn't. Not only was he human, he was also a very broken human and I was slowly making him whole again.

One time during that year he was having a particularly bad day, which also happened to be a particularly bad day weather wise as well. He was silent for the most part, and his face was in deep concentration, but I could see how upset he was because it wasn't his usual thinking face, it had an edge to it. I was too nervous about bringing it up because I was afraid I had done something to offend him or hurt his feelings and I wasn't quite sure how to address it.

I finally worked up the courage to talk to him about it, when we were seated in the car and I just couldn't take the deafening silence anymore.

"Sherlock," I began, looking down at my tightly clasped hands in my lap. "If I've done something to upset you, I'm—" I broke off when I felt his hand gently touch my shoulder. I looked over at him hesitantly, to meet his soft green-blue eyes.

"No, it's nothing like that." He assured me, taking his hand off my shoulder. "I'm… sorry for giving you the wrong idea. I was just upset, but not with you. I've just had a lot on my mind lately." He paused and looked down at his own lap, biting his lip. I was slightly surprised at such a show of emotion, of showing me how uncomfortable he was. "I guess… I guess, I'm so used to putting up a wall around everyone. Even my parents. But," He looked back at me, "I've just become so used being around you, so comfortable around you, that I unknowingly let my guard down. I hope I didn't upset you too much. There's no need for you to apologise, because you've done nothing wrong."

This comforted me in some ways. It told me that he really was learning to open up to me and trust me. And that he showed that insecurity told me that he was comfortable showing me just how insecure he still was without worrying that I'd judge him for it. So I did my best not to and believed that he'd one day come to trust me as I trusted him.

* * *

**Sorry that took longer, I hit a sort of writer's block. And, you know, college and what not. Anyhow, I don't know how long this next one is going to take, but I also have some of that already written as well.**

**As always, hope you enjoyed!**

**Title is from the song from the Polar Express. So, absolutely **_**nothing**_** to do with the song, but I think the title captures the over-arching theme of the chapter….**

**Thank you for reading,  
****TheBrightestNight**


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